The dam of Dario’s laughter bursts. He doubles over alongside Charlie. Their jubilant sounds echo in the now-empty showroom.
“Does he get to keep the bucket?” Charlie asks between guffaws.
“I’ll see to it personally that he does,” Dario says, leading them away from the unpleasant lingering smell and toward the final stop on the tour, The Tasting Room.
The employee stationed at the entrance asks how many to be seated. Charlie’s eyes tunnel past the employee and into thelounge that features long tables and zanily patterned booths. Childlike wonder bolts off Charlie.
Dario realizes none of the others ever caught up with the tour. It’s clear where their priorities lie. Dario should be disappointed, but he’s not because the present company is too good to begrudge.
“Want me to round up the others?” Charlie asks, clearly trying to be helpful.
“They’ll find us when they’re ready. Table for two, please,” Dario says to the employee, and to his surprise, he really likes the sound of that.
EIGHT
CHARLIE
The Tasting Room is like the automats of old his grandparents used to tell him about, except only for chocolate.
Each table is pressed up against a wall of rainbow-colored, rectangular compartments. A tablet pops out from the table and asks what you’d like to try. Dario prompts Charlie to go first.
“What do I say?” he asks, amazed at the technology.
“Anything your heart desires. We have old treats, new treats, and treats not yet put to market. If we don’t have what you’re craving, our taste lab will concoct something close to what you desire,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows, letting his chin rest on the backs of his clasped hands. The posture and the direct eye contact make Charlie’s heart squeeze a little.
Charlie rolls through his memory bank of favorite flavors. Saliva floods his mouth. While he’s partial to the classic Amorina bar, he is not averse to trying something specially made for him. “How about dark chocolate with marshmallow and peanut butter?”
The words appear one at a time on the tablet. A rainbow circle whirls before the name “Snowtop Truffle” glitters across thescreen. Whizzing sounds emanate from behind the wall and then a drawer pops open. A springy tray slides out with a single truffle on it. It is about the size of a quarter and pointy at the top like a mountain peak. The marshmallow is drizzled across the smooth exterior.
“It’s almost too pretty to eat,” says Charlie.
“It’s meant to be eaten,” says Dario. “I would be offended if you let it go to waste.”
Charlie was not expecting this much alone time with the chocolate maker right off the bat, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Unless that mouth is trying to steal his Snowtop Truffle, which he devours whole. The outer shell melts on his tongue, and the sweetness of the chocolate and marshmallow topping give way to the saltiness of the smooth peanut butter that must be made right here on the premises because it’s so fresh.
“These are artisan batch chocolates, made closer to the way my great-great-grandmother made her first chocolates in the family bakery. From the stories I’ve heard, she was very experimental with her concepts, so I asked my grandfather to hire a group of young, excitable chocolatiers to breathe fresh life into Amorina,” Dario explains. “Who better to give them ideas than the chocolate lovers who come from all over the world to try out our Tasting Room?”
“That’s a brilliant idea,” Charlie says.
Dario’s cheeks grow pink beneath his smattering of light facial hair. “That’s how I pitched it to my nonno. Selfishly, it’s a bid for a better sustainability score for the company and a healthier global impact. There is a ton of waste in chocolate production. It is a greenhouse gas intensive food. I don’t want my family business to be the reason my children suffer an inevitable heat death.”
“You want children, then?” Charlie asks, filing this tidbit away.
“I meant if I have children.” Dario’s ears pinken the same shade as his cheeks. “I like the idea of keeping Amorina in the Cotogna family, should there still be an Earth to keep Amorina going on by then.”
“You’re making me feel guilty about wanting to order another chocolate,” Charlie says, eyeing the wall of wonder hiding such scrumptious delights.
Dario makes a clicking sound, and his eyes spark with some idea. “No guilt needed for this next one. Let me order for you,” Dario says before whispering some Italian words into the microphone on the tablet.
A single square of chocolate appears on the next platter.
Charlie inspects it, sensing he’s missing something. “Isn’t this just the regular Amorina bar? I mean, I’m not complaining. I love them…”
“Try it and you tell me,” Dario says, something unnamable glinting in his eyes.
Charlie lets the square linger on his tongue. The flavor remains rich and decadent, but he can tell that the recipe isn’t right. “I like it. It’s good. But it’s not a typical Amorina bar. I’ve had enough of them to tell. Is it…sugar-free?”
“Close!” Dario says, seeming delighted. “I have hired a team of scientists to research uses for more of the cocoa fruit. Seventy-five percent of it gets thrown away in the production process like the husks and the pulp. That kind of waste is unconscionable for an operation as big as ours. I have tasked this specific team with developing creative ways to reduce our eco footprint by adding those parts back into the chocolate-making process. Here, they’ve created a syrup as a sugar replacement meant to replicate our standard flavor.”
